Our Life in a Single Volume
by randomphoenixramblings
Summary: This book is the property of the Slytherin Prince and the Crusader Queen.
1. Prologue

Seventy-six years after the Second Wizard's War, Mssr. Pince, a direct descendant of the great Madam Pince, saw a new entry appear in the Hogwarts Library catalog. It entered itself into the Restricted Section where, sure enough, the librarian later found a weathered leatherbound book that had no identifiable quality save for its previous owners, two faceless individuals: a Slytherin Prince, and a Crusader Queen.

Mssr. Pince rolled his eyes at the arrogance of the kids – for who else would self-style themselves in such a childish manner – who defiled the book by inking their ownership so boldly on the front page. However, it did not take long for the wizard to realize why the library had filed this book in the Restricted Section. He watched, mildly amazed, as a blood-curling spell wrote itself in sharp, angled letters on the very first page of the book. Obligated to report the appearance of dark magic material in the library, he made his way to the Headmaster's office and presented the book to Professor Scorpius Malfoy for perusal. To his astonishment (and subsequent embarrassment), no instructions for a dangerous spell appeared on the first page. Instead, a Muggle poem penned itself upon the crisp parchment.

_Love is too young to know what conscience is,  
>Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?<br>Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,  
>Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.<br>For, thou betraying me, I do betray  
>My nobler part to my gross body's treason;<br>My soul doth tell my body that he may  
>Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,<br>But rising at thy name doth point out thee  
>As his triumphant prize; proud of this pride,<br>He is contented thy poor drudge to be,  
>To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.<br>No want of conscience hold it that I call  
>Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.<em>

–_William Shakespeare_

"Professor, I swear—" Mssr. Pince began, but stopped at a gesture from the aged man lounging on his tall seat. Unceremoniously, the Headmaster closed the book, then opened it once more. Slowly, the two wizards observed yet another entry write itself upon the first page.

AGM: _I miss you, my friend. Thank you for everything. I will never forget you._

The Headmaster inhaled deeply before closing the book one more time. "It appeared in the Restricted Section?" he asked, eyes lowered, unreadable.

"Yes, Professor. Would you prefer to keep it elsewhere? I can—"

"No, Mssr. Pince," Another deep breath, a small, almost invisible smile. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, but I do not believe this book is dangerous enough to remove from the library. In fact.." He paused, the harsh lines of his face deepening slightly. "I believe this book is the only one of its kind. Take good care of it, will you?"

The slight confusion at the Headmaster's strange reaction had been forgotten by dinnertime. Mssr. Pince strode to the Great Hall, already dismissing the mysterious book that, from this day forward, would reside, obscured and almost-lost, in the countless bookshelves within Hogwarts Library's infamous Restricted Section.


	2. Page 1: I am Draco Malfoy

_Between you and I, she can never compare to you._

_Between you and I, I still keep your picture underneath my bed,_

_Where she gives herself to me.._

_And I give myself to you. _

xBetween You and I by Every Avenue

Astoria Greengrass. I almost choked on her name when I uttered it to the gathered crowd at our grand, heavily-publicized wedding. She was so beautiful, but I could not bring myself to look at her. She knew as well as I did that our joining was no more than an attempt to glue together what was left of our crumbling society, but, unlike me – screaming and crying inside while presenting my usual indifferent façade to the world – she accepted it with both grace and an enthusiasm that I did not deserve. I think, in the end, she resigned herself to this marriage for the same reason that I did: this was the only chance we had of escaping the suffocating hold of our defeated parents. She did not love me, but, for the sake of some silly romantic notion, she tried so hard to open herself to me that, at some point during the struggle, she ended up believing her own self-made lie. I did not have the courage to shake her out of her delusion.

So for the last thirteen years, she had laid in my bed. She bore me a son, Scorpius, who we both loved beyond life itself. Though she eventually realized that I could never love her, she endeavored to at least become my friend, and to that end, she succeeded. She kept my house, raised my child, and I allotted to her all the respect that she deserved. My wife, my companion, my sometimes-lover.. She held me each time my demons threatened to overpower my sanity. She brought me back to reality, reminding me with soft entreaties, thick with emotion, that I was loved (that she loved me), that the Master was long dead, that the pain coursing through my very soul was not _his_ unforgivable Crucio but the makings of my own fractured mind. "Granger, please!" I'd scream, and she would tighten her arms around me, as if afraid I would disappear from within her embrace. "It's alright, my love, my sweet," she'd whisper in my ear as she rocks me like a frightened child.

For weeks after, I would suffer the memory of her tears splashing against my own skin, proof of my foolish inability to keep from hurting her with my unrequited love for another. But Astoria—She would greet me every morning with a smile and a kiss, until the memory of _you_ had once again receded into the deepest recesses of my subconscious, trapped there by a steadily-weakening memory charm whose caster had long succumbed to death by old age. Lucius Malfoy's last act of cruelty: casting an Obliviate that barely lasted eight years before cracking just enough to allow slivers of memory to reenter the forefront of his son's mind, thus condemning him to near-inevitable insanity. What the hell happened between you and I, Granger, that I remember exactly how much I love you but not who you are or where to start looking for you?


	3. Page 2: AntiErasure Quills

__Stop staring at me, Malfoy!__

Sorry.

_What?_

s o r r y. s o r r y m y h a n d w r i t i n g n e e d s w o r k I k n o w.

_What? I mean why are y  
>It's fine. Your script is fine.<em>

* * *

><p>I think you were brilli<p> 


	4. Page 3: For the Advanced Potioneer

Page 328

**DIMENTI**

A Discussion on Its Uses and Advantages

_Dimenti _is an advanced-practitioner potion used as an agonist to a subject's natural ability to organize his thoughts and memories into subconscious compartments within the brain. The potion often achieves its purpose through simple defragmentation of the mind's contents. This potion is unique in that it allows a potioneer to modify its effects by adjusting the amount of or simply interchanging specific ingredients used in making the potion. Potion-brewing in itself takes less than four hours. However, the meticulous preparation needed to create a potent and appropriate _Dimenti_ requires months – even years – of ample practice and ingredient gathering/cultivation.

The _Dimenti_ is most often used to improve intellectual performance. The enhanced compartmentalization allows for faster retrieval of memories, hence allowing the subject to project a false façade of unusual intelligence. This effect can last up to three days and must be reinforced with another dose if the improved performance needs to be maintained. It is illegal to use a _Dementi_ in this capacity in all scholastic and professional activities unless otherwise sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic.

A more dangerous use of the _Dementi_ involves the addition of bottled Azure Sylph Flame to the recipe. This ingredient, when added in the right portion and method, leads to semi-permanent alterations in a subject's mind. Due to the potion's ability to improve the compartmentalization, careful tweaks to the _Dementi_'s recipe can focus its properties into concealing memories within the brain from the subject's own conscious mind. The effect of this recipe, often called _Dementi Memorie, _or simply, _D. Memorie_, is more subtle than the Obliviate charm, and far more permanent than the ordinary Dementi. Its effects can last a whole lifetime if the membrane does not disintegrate or is not forcibly removed with an antidote.

H.E.F. Slughorn, Professor and Potions Master at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, describes the _Dementi Memorie_ in greater detail below:

"Instead of sucking the memories right out of a subject or sealing it in an intracranial box, _D. Memorie_ places a chemical filter membrane within the subject's neural pathways; therefore, only specifically tagged memories are actually "lost". It is important to note that, unlike memory charms, _D. Memorie_ does not have the capacity to alter memories. It can only prevent the chemically tagged memories from entering the forefront of the subject's mind."

The use of _Dementi Memorie_ has been prohibited by the Ministry of Magic, sans the written, expressed, and properly documented approval of both the Minister of Magic and the Head of the Auror Office.


	5. Page 4: like a sister to me

**YEAR VI - Gryffindor Common Room**

**HARRY P.**: What the hell are you so angry for, anyway?

**RON W.**: It's disgusting, it is. Going on like that. It's not right.

**HARRY P.**: What, visiting him at Madam Pomfrey's? It's not like she was kissing him, Ron. She just held his hand. And he wasn't even awake! You snog Lavender all the time - it's kinda gross, actually - but you don't hear _her_ complaining about it.

**RON W.**: He's the enemy! You said so yourself: we can't trust Malfoy!

**HARRY P.**: But this is Hermione we're talking about. We can definitely trust her. Where would we be without her taking care of us all these years?

**RON W.**: You're just feeling guilty 'coz you sent him to the hospital to begin with. Too bad Snape came to the rescue. Wish the little git would just die already.

**HARRY P.**: Don't say that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>Thank you for the responses, everyone. I am really enjoying writing this series. I particularly love exploring the different styles with which I am attempting to bring our favorite Harry Potter pairing to life. I am considering the use of other media (perhaps incorporating audio-visual pieces, for example) to enrich the story, and I would love to hear what the readers think of that idea. Much love, Nyx.


	6. Page 5:  Hurricane

"I'm losing her, Blaise. And maybe I could abide that if I knew I was sacrificing us for an even remotely appropriate purpose, but I don't—I don't know how to do this. How to _be _this stoic bastard of a Death Eater, pretending to plot the fall of the great Albus Dumbledore when I… I know our generous Master does not mean for me to survive. My death would give the Dark Lord some passing amusement, nothing else. I am the payment for my father's failure. He'll likely punish my parents after I die because I botched the assassination he knew would never succeed. How the hell am I supposed to be alright with that? It's all madness. Our parents chose the side of insanity and we're all paying for it."

Draco Malfoy had tears in his eyes. Appropriate, that. He was spilling all over the god-damned place, this famed Slytherin monarch. His carefully concealed bouts of hysteria at the beginning of the year had progressed to fully-pledged, sporadic, terrifying, maniacal behavior towards what seemed like the entire populace within the cursed castle. The man was fraying at the damned seams. Any wizard with half a brain could see the hurricane bursting to annihilate the Malfoy heir. So, by Merlin's Wrath, what's a few more tears to add to the torrential downpour. Draco was already drowning in his own miserable grief, and Blaise, secretly afraid that he was heading down the same dangerous path, could not ignore the other Slytherin's silent plea for help.

Not that his intentions did either of them any good at the end of it all. Blaise, caught in his own set of tangled webs, had no words of comfort for his almost-friend. "I'm sorry, mate," he muttered with as much conviction as he could muster, "but you can't lose what you never had in the first place. She's fire; you're a corpse—hey, don't look at me like that. You know we're all walking a thin line between living and an errant Avada. The only difference between us is that I've accepted my near-unshakable doom. You, on the other hand…" The unspoken words hung limp, tasteless despite its dark warnings. The last of the Zabinis sighed, his disapproving expression softening, though Draco was too engrossed by the ominous Mark on his forearm to notice one of the very few signs of sheer spiritual exhaustion Blaise was willing to show. "I don't know what to tell you, Malfoy. Can't afford to love when you're at the mercy of a maniac."


	7. Page 6: Memory No 218

**Memory No. 218**

**Source: **Harry James Potter

* * *

><p>The tell-tale flickering white of a corporeal Patronus bound into Harry Potter's bedroom, illuminating the cluttered space with its serene, almost hypnotizing dance. Shadows swayed ominously as the young war hero stared, unperturbed, at the luminescent canine settling quietly a few feet from his bed. He didn't reach for his glasses right away; instead, he waited silently for the familiar Jack Russel to deliver its message. He knew what was coming; he was beginning to realize that he had been waiting for this summon for days now.<p>

"It's 'Mione," came the panicked voice of his bestfriend. Even the near ghostly quality lent by the Patronus could not mask Ronald Weasley's paralyzing fear. "Come quick, Harry, please."

Harry sighed, a deep, near-miserable sound that underscored the sudden darkness that engulfed the room as the Patronus vanished unceremoniously, belying its elaborate entrance with the swift finality of its disappearance.

The scene changed, morphed, swirled as though stirred in an oversized cauldron.

Elaborate paintings strategically decorated the walls alongside tall, overflowing bookcases that reached the vaulted ceiling. Wide windows opened to magnificent views of Wizarding London, but the thick, burgundy curtains were drawn shut this evening. A living room set, several shades darker than the curtains, was the centerpiece of Hermione's lavish collection. From where Harry stood near the front door, he saw broad shoulders and a shock of red hair reflecting the poor light cast by a solitary lamp.

"Shhh…" Ron Weasley crooned, his arms wrapped protectively around _her. _Their anchor, their savior, the only woman in their slowly shrinking world. She was faceless tonight, unrecognizable save for the disheveled mass of curly brown hair that fell in chaotic rivulets down her back.

One step, two, then he was almost flying, almost falling right into the chaos. Pity, worry and resolve chased themselves from his expression but he never faltered, never took his troubled eyes from his wounded friends. He found his place beside the sobbing woman, arms instantly wrapping around her almost the same way Ron's had. They had always been one image, really. Underneath deceptive physical appearances, they were one person, and Hermione was their soul.

"I can't, Harry, oh Gods," she sobbed, the words distorted, muffled into Ron's already soaked shirt. "It hurts so much. S-so much!"

"I know, 'Mione, I know," he responded, his torso curving into her back as he tried to pry her into sitting up. A jolt ran through the witch's form, catapulting her from one friend's embrace to the other. She wept harder, cried louder, making Ron cringe as he released her to the comforting arms of the Boy Who Lived. It was the hero's turn now, the best friend had just about reached his own breaking point.

So she clasped Harry tighter with each trembling sob, begging him to save her like he did the rest of their world. _Please, please..._ "I wish I could take it away, Hermione, I really do—"

She shot up, straight as a bowstring, stretched so close to fraying that Harry drew away almost as if he feared the overwhelming lunacy in her bloodshot brown eyes. "You could!" she began, hysteria momentarily replacing the anguish from her voice. "Both of you, please. Y-you could Obliviate it out of me, destroy the memories forever." Even as she said the words, tears welled and travelled the beaten track down her glistening cheeks. "Please, Harry, Ron…" The red-haired wizard, the Weasley King, _could not save a thing, _and his face was a freckled mask, pained, pale. The lump on his throat shifted – down and up, and again._ That's why Slytherins all sing. _

"'Mione, I—" Deep breath, and now stare. Her fingers, so damned frail, had somehow entwined with Ron's. The boy stared at their joined hands like they were some cruel joke. Desperate hope brought her features into sharp relief. A ghastly thing to behold, their precious Hermione, creature of logic and queen of sensibilities, succumbing to this dark, twisted version of optimism. It splattered over her being like acid on skin, corrosive, unstoppable, and the sight of it eating away at their friend drove Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to the very edge of sanity.

"Please," she begged again, her resolve fracturing just as quickly as it had manifested. "P-please, please.." Harry pulled her frail, subdued form back into his arms before she could plunge herself back into the hysterical mess that had become of her emotions.

"We're here, Hermione," Harry whispered again, the resolute green of his eyes locked with Ron's anguished blues. "It's gonna be okay. We'll fix this, I promise. I promise."

Once again, the scene devolved, dissipating into a spectrum of garish colors. A lone wizard replaced the distraught Trio. Harry Potter had abandoned the couch long ago. Now, haggard and almost angry, he stared at the slowly waking metropolis before him. He had pushed the stiff curtain aside with one hand, allowing an unparalleled view of the upcoming sunrise, a horizon tinged with blood to reflect the misery raging behind Hermione's walls.

The sound of a door gently shutting pulled Harry from his unwelcomed reverie and back to the present that so frantically needed his attention.

Ron's return was quiet, his footsteps heavy and dragging. An empty flask slipped from his shaking hand and thudded on the plush carpet. He chanced a glance at Harry before falling upon one of Hermione's recliners. His head dropped gracelessly into his palms and for long, agonizing moments, the national Quidditch celebrity simply sat there, frozen save for the faint rise and fall of his massive shoulders.

"Ron…?" Harry was an expert at hesitation. Apprehension, too. It became him like the scar on his forehead and the glasses that never quite remained repaired.

"I wish I could forget, too," the taller wizard muttered, the words stated in such a matter of fact tone that Harry's brows furrowed even deeper. "Not all, just…Just that I am willing to do anything – anything! for her, but she…" He paused, shaking his head as he allowed a mirthless smile to creep upon his features. He did not bother finishing his sentence. _I take one step forward, and she'll take me. _Both wizards knew what he was trying to say, but neither had the heart nor the strength to stop the onslaught of honesty pouring out of Ron's mouth. "By Godric, Harry, I'm still here." _That leaves you free to checkmate the King. _


End file.
